Sartorial Percipience
by SnowSybaris
Summary: Arthur projects emotional state with his clothing- buttons, vests, ties, cuffs, etc. Eames is very happy when he rolls his sleeves up. Explicit not-porn, slash.


_Prompt: People assume Arthur is uptight and rigid because of how he dresses. Eames has learned through observation that Arthur actually uses his clothing to repress his actually very passionate nature. His three-piece suits are emotional straight jackets. But Arthur gives himself away with little things that Eames has figured out how to interpret: a very slightly loosened tie means "I'm frustrated"; no jacket means "I'm restless"; a button or two undone on the vest means "I'm attracted"; sleeves rolled up mean "I'm horny as fuck", etc. Eames, of course, needs to use this to his advantage._

* * *

For the last few weeks, Eames has started every morning by looking at Arthur's collar and sleeves.

There are other tells, of course, but those are the most prominent. Collar, ties, cuffs, watch. He noticed, on the morning after of their first shag (a morning after that had gone really well, as they went), that Arthur was wearing a green tie with yellow ducks on it.

Oh, fine. Yellow birds. They might have been black. On very very dark green.

So Eames started paying attention to his ties, and then he inevitably noticed the collar buttons- buttoned up was standard, one undone was for relaxation (never two, more was the pity). And it was when he and Ariadne were having it out over the logistics of the latest dream, and Arthur's hand fluttered up to tuck at his tie- not to perfect the knot, but to loosen- about half an inch.

Eames leaned forward in interest.

And he found out that while the loosened tie meant frustration, Arthur took off his jacket when he was bored and roamed restlessly up and down the place, busying himself with small jobs, straightening up teapots and cutlery and even Yusuf's vials until he was begged not to. When he did it the next time, Eames was there to casually press up against his back and grip Arthur's shoulders, kneading at the muscle there, until Arthur gave a very small gasp and went limp in his chair-

Story for another day.

Undone cuffs he'd thought were for restlessness as well, until an hour after he undid them Arthur pinned Eames in the bathroom and proceeded to-

Yet another story.

And if undone cuffs got him a blowjob within an hour, rolled-up sleeves-

Which brings us to today. Patience.

It's only today that Arthur catches on about the clothes-watching. He calls him out on it at their lunch break, when Eames trails his gaze on Arthur's neck and shirt buttons as he pours his coffee. Arthur's face is pink as he speaks, because he's aware that his acknowledgement of this- this thing- is probably going to lead to hours of tension (embarrassed on Arthur's side, anticipatory on Eames') for the rest of the day and a very racy night that's going to leave Arthur completely wiped out tomorrow morning.

They both figure this out before Arthur opens his mouth.

"You've been- looking at my suits." he accuses. "To read me."

Eames smiles, feeling very pleased with himself. Arthur's wearing his belt a little looser today, probably because erections actually hurt when you wear belts to fit your waist when you're as thin as Arthur is. His sleeves aren't rolled up- yet- (Eames likes this word, 'yet') but his angle-cut cuffs are undone, and- oh, dare he hope- the right sleeve is showing the faintest hint of a crease, as if Arthur had moved, absently, to roll it up but had hastily stopped.

He feels a bit like Sherlock Holmes as he leans against the table, coffee forgotten for a moment, and points them out one by one. Arthur fiddles with his cuffs defensively when Eames reaches that part- his favorite part, actually- but Eames covers his hand with his own, and grins at him. "No, don't."

Arthur's breath hitches in his throat, and there's a lovely red tinge to his cheeks that makes him just want to-

"Ohgodnothere." Arthur says in one fast hard breath, and two seconds later his hands are tangled up in Eames' collar and skewed tie and he's being pinned against the wall by Arthur's mouth on his neck, sloppily teething against his pulse.

"Oh my." Eames sighs, closing the door and winding his arms around Arthur's waist. "I've given you- mph- quite the appetite-"

"Shut up." Arthur says, and makes to unzip Eames' trousers, but he stops him, catches him by the wrists, pins them together and against his own chest. Arthur could give him some trouble if he really wanted to, but after bucking and grinding (very nicely) against him for a few seconds, he stops, his pupils blown and mouth open, looking absolutely delectable. "What- are you doing, Eames, what are you doing-"

Eames is drawing up the crisp cloth of Arthur's shirt at his arms, one arm after another, dragging the cufflinks up with his teeth. Arthur watches, entranced, as Eames pulls his sleeves up.

"You wanted to do that, didn't you." Eames murmurs into the hollow of his right elbow, tongue flicking out once, and long shudders run through the entire length of his body. There's no way Eames can't feel it. "You tried, once, and pulled it back down, because you knew I'd know- but Arthur, you do know I always know anyway-"

Arthur lets out a pitiful little sound as Eames reverses positions, pushing Arthur against the wall, increasing pressure against his body until it didn't matter that his knees were buckling. He waits for Eames to reach down, palm that swelling pressure in his pants, or at least lean forward to kiss him, but instead Eames raises Arthur's arms up again, so that he's arranged them across his chest as in some protective stance. Arthur watches, jaw going a little slack, as Eames presses his mouth to the bump of his right wrist and works his way up- or down, rather- to the thicker part of the forearm where lean muscles were bunched with tension.

"God." Arthur hisses as Eames licks a stripe up again, this time on the pale underside of his wrist, and then a perpendicular strip on the creases between wrist and hand. He wants Eames to reach down- hands, mouth, whatever- because he's so hard it's painful, even with his loosened belt- but he can't bring himself to say the words, when Eames' eyes are fixed on his arms like he's never seen human arms before, and there's a fascinated, mystified, and also kind of ravenous look in them that makes his mouth go dry.

Eames teeths at the pulse point of his other wrist and then brings Arthur's hands together so he can lick them at once, and Arthur lurches his weight unsteadily against Eames, determined to _press_. Eames dances out of reach, pulling Arthur's arms out with him, and without the press of Eames' body Arthur's unsteady knees give.

Eames kneels with him, and doesn't let go of his wrists. Now he brings Arthur's hands to his mouth and sucks in several of his fingers without warning, and his mouth is hot but his teeth cool against his fingers, and his tongue slicks up against them gently. Arthur watches his fingers disappear into Eames' mouth and tries to control his breathing, but it's a lost cause, and it's getting even more lost as Eames slips his mouth free from the tangle of his digits and runs his mouth down Arthur's wrist again-

"Sod your expensive watches." he mutters against the silver, and leaves a slick trail of saliva on the metal as he goes down, and Arthur's glad he's sitting down already. He moves Arthur's arms again so his elbows form a V, and he licks his way into them, and ohgod, he's making an _art_ of insinuation, his tongue flicking in between the artificial crevice. That tongue. Christ. Arthur jerks violently, because he's been twitchy since morning and even though Eames hasn't touched him this is so- goddamn- powerful-

And then Eames draws away. Stands up.

On the floor, completely dressed except for his bare and slightly damp forearms, Arthur gapes up at his lover. "What the actual fuck." he says, his cock straining against expensive cloth. "Eames!" To his shame, his voice breaks off into a whine.

"My coffee's getting cold." Eames says, and he sounds entirely cheerful and composed, even though Arthur sees the kitchen light outlining the bulge of his erection as he turns to go. "We can continue this tonight, yeah?"

"Screw _you_." Arthur sputters, and Eames turns again at the door, his expression devilish, wicked, as it always is when Eames thinks he's being particularly clever. Arthur doesn't think it's clever of him at all. In fact, it's one of the worst mistakes Eames has ever made, because when they get to his apartment Arthur is going to completely screw his ass against Eames' dick until Eames _screams_ and begs and Arthur's going to fasten his teeth on his neck and show him, show him that-

That doesn't seem to be quite it.

Meanwhile, Eames, at the door, is tapping his finger against his tie, and Arthur's hand comes up to his own to check. His cheeks burn again.

His tie's been loosened for him.


End file.
